Let's drink our sorrows awake to sloppy sobriety and raping love, claustrophobic hugs, frigid burns and wrong turns.

Already Dead

And what if I'm already dead? The seasons changes and came to end. All I hear is branches under me leaves covering me because I came to end. So what if I'm already dead...

Heart Attack

forget. the pain. in your chest. don't forget. the pain. in your chest. forget. the pain. in your chest. don't forget. the pain. in your chest of drawers. in your treasure chest. in your cage of ribs. in your cage of hearts. forget. the pain. in your chest. don't forget.

Horses

Her hair like strands of mud strewn hay waves effortless and crashing to her face, wind knotting and tangling golden highlights into dirtied darkened roots. She breathes in the unspace left from a heartless chest, gasping the air of cigarettes, blackening her crumbling soul to dust to dust.

The horses hear these melancholic sighs, heaving towards her on the highwayside, through the clay caught in their hoofs and the thorn ridden whimpering brush. An echo chimes, reverberating the dissatisfaction of their ordinary lives to never race against the winners instead to hide amongst the losers. To sit, to stand, to eat, to sleep, repeat repeat and to wait for lust lost lovers in dust in dust.

Her hand grazes the peachy softness of his heavy nostrils, feeling his burden palm to touch, alone and caught in the tarnished rot of her malignant green eyes twitching exhaustively and starring into a benign glimmering black as he stares back. The sun browns her china doll skin imperfect moles scattered grass-chewing dandelion seeds blowing wishes into the dusk, wishing for night to fall shadow upon their manes, with dust with dust.

This City

In this city people talk in a walking sleep, head to the floor, chattering, clanking, clacking bores. Their jaws to feet, little sheep with pavement sounds, around and around, smoke sucking in lucky dollar bills and sin. Trying thrills for odd looks to kill friends don't know love won't own any inside walls crawling home to roam, lost costs sanity humanity. In this city people talk in a walking sleep, head to the floor, chattering, clanking, clacking whores.

I Found You

We met on the script of a tea stained paper trampling footsteps of ink and scattered fingerprints. I traced you on blank beds of word, catching letters as we spoke, drawing hearts within the sheets and coloring outside the lines. The book begins to burn as we pretend to set fire to the sun scribbling lightning strikes in black wind, crumpling our story in patterns, doodling secret notes and love letters tied in rope until they blow away.

Cold legs parting for wrists watching submissive lips pouting the buried blessed hips swinging playground sandbox dirty empty and gone.

Your bleeding ink splits me soft, a feather, a cold a night, a sweat. Write me a letter, words torn, unraveling to forget, tears worn flying into a white page where we once met.

I see
I hear
I feel
Nothing.

I feel
I hear
I see
A black hole.

Slowly

The body, slowly breathing, slowly breaking, slowly. It caves inward into bones, dust, worms, rust. Fine lines to frowns. Laugh lines to crowns. Lost and slowly breaking, slowly.